


the skin fic

by hcngkcng



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:53:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25003447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hcngkcng/pseuds/hcngkcng
Summary: ryan likes skin.
Relationships: Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie
Kudos: 1





	the skin fic

**Author's Note:**

> poorly written and cursed. this is also re-uploaded aha, sorry about that. the smut is bad so just bare with me. as much as i can read smut, i hate writing it. have fun with this mess.

in the sixth grade, ryan got an injury. it wasn't like an injury he had ever gotten before, no. to put it simply, thick layers of skin ended up peeling back on both his ring and middle finger. the person to blame for this was himself for slamming his hand into a door. whether it was on purpose or not was a question no one cared enough to answer. ryan's mother took him to the hospital afterward. he got stitches and was sent home.  
later that night was particularly restless for ryan. he was much too focused on watching his once milky skin turn an ugly pitch black color where the impact was especially bad. the fact that he couldn't see the black laced into his fingers made him unsettled. he saw it as a call for action. with trembling hands and a twisted smile, he pulled them out, one by one. the feeling of them coming undone and sliding through was fantastically delicious. one thing led to another and he got an infection. green and yellow puss leaked from his fingers.  
knowing he would get in trouble if he told his mother, he kept it under wraps. literally. he let it heal naturally.

in the tenth grade, ryan got cut. it was his own doing to be fair, though he wouldn't ever admit that. he was simply curious as to how it would feel to pierce his skin with the cold, hard metal of a knife. ryan was going to use a can of something as an excuse for if he got caught. (he didn't.) he took a can of green beans and stabbed it a few times for effect. he washed the juice off of the knife and placed it to his stomach. slowly, he pressed. his brain told him to go harder. who was he to say no? a slave to his thoughts, he pressed harder. he felt the cool metal inside of his skin. on impulse, he pushed in the tiniest bit more. he pulled it out, gasping and the feeling of.. well, nothing. he pushed it in again, going a tad more deeper than the last time. then he took it out again. he felt blood drip down his stomach in a thick stream. he dipped his pinky into the wound (he only got the tip in) and moaned at the feeling. he took it upon himself to lick the blood off. the taste was like old pennies. he craved it like he hadn't ever craved anything more. all of the blood that poured out ended up getting lapped off of ryan's fingers.  
ross took care of the wound himself after making green beans. he couldn't waste them! no one noticed the cut but a friend of his (spencer smith). had he not stretched during lunch, spencer wouldn't have seen the wound and prompted the question, “what the fuck happened to you?” and ryan wouldn't have answered “slippery hands and tough to open green bean cans.” spencer didn't question it.

in the twelfth grade, ryan developed a fascination with skin. he inflicted bruises on himself and used his camera to take pictures of it daily. he wrote about it in journals. he ended up cutting himself in non-noticable places (and ended up getting off to it every time). he stopped doing those things when he passed out to blood loss once. his brown leather journals went into a fireplace. the pictures, on the other hand, stayed in his gallery. his mother discovered them and had a long conversation about school bullies, which was ridiculous. ryan was in twelfth grade, for gods sake! who does that? ryan went along with it anyways. easier than telling her he did it himself.

the night before the live in denver preformance, ryan looked at his scars. most of them were on his stomach and chest, though a few stray scars were on his upper arm and foot. they almost looked like they didnt belong there, like they ran away from his torso and stayed there. he was almost put into a trance looking at them. the cravings he had figuratively boxed up and threw into the ocean somehow washed right back to his shore.  
“you done ry? we're about to go,” brendon chimed from outside of the bathroom.  
ryan's eyed widened, coming to the realization of what he was doing.  
“shit, yeah, just..” he grunted with his shirt in his mouth.  
his skinny jeans were pulled up quickly. he peeled his eyes away from the mirror with reluctance and let his shirt fall. walking out slowly, his whole demeanor appeared negative. so much so, in fact, that brendon stopped him. a hand was placed on ryan's chest.  
“what's um.. what's wrong?” he asked softly.  
ry shrugged his shoulders, jerking away from bren and leaving him behind in the gas station.  
the air was unsurprisingly frigid. mountains were visible above buildings in the far off distance like a peek-a-boo game. ryan found it a shame that the skyscrapers covered the view. ‘ah, the disease of modernism,’ he had thought to himself. street lamps poured puddles of light onto the semi-wet concrete of the gas station. ryan couldn't get thoughts of what he had done to himself out of his head. most of him wanted more of it. most of him wanted the taste, the feel, the adrenaline, the need to hide something. a small piece of him didn't want it for himself. that small piece wanted to inflict it on someone else, though he knew he didn't have any willing volunteers. he knew damn well he wasn't going to find someone kinky enough to volunteer near him, and he also didn't want to invest in that style of living. it's a waste of money, all to fuck a walking s.t.d.. ryan wouldn't shove his dick up someone diseased like that.  
ryan climbed into the very back of the van where spencer sat. he was glad to be back there, because spence wouldn't see his raging boner. he was asleep, after all. and for once more than any time before, ryan was glad that it was a hotel night. what could go wrong?

ryan shifted repeatedly in his bed. insomnia, that's what could go wrong.  
“fucking hell, man. do you need something to sleep?”  
ry bit his lip.  
“no, bren. i'm.. i'm good."  
“no, you're not. there's some unisom in the bag. take it and go to bed,” brendon said with slurred speech. his voice was raspy and tired, begging for some rest.  
“brendon, i'm not fucking taki-”  
“yes you are.”  
“no i'm not.”  
“you are.”  
“no.”  
a moment of silence fell upon the two, followed by the clicking of the lamp turning on and the sound of a pill bottle. before ryan had time to react, brendon was on top of him.  
‘skin to skin,’ ryan thought, trying his hardest not to do something he would regret.  
bren placed his thumb delicately on ryan's chin. promptly, he opened it and placed he pill inside of his mouth.  
“swallow.”  
ryan obliged with no hesitation. had he hesitated, he would have to deal with the taste of chemicals running down the back of his throat.  
“good boy,” the younger male praised.  
brendon went to back to bed after having turned off the lamp. he threw the pill bottle elsewhere in the room. it made a satisfying rattle when hitting the floor.  
there ryan was, yet again with another painfully hard dick, and all thanks to the motherfucker next to him. he thought he had beaten it out of himself earlier (literally and non-literally. he relapsed and gave himself bruises on his thigh using his left fist and thrusted into the other. that moment was more than hot to him, knowing brendon was in the room and knowing he had to keep quiet. he whimpered every now and then like a kitten would, and bren would be lying if he said he wasn't questioning it. pressure only added to the pleasure in the situation), but apparently not.  
“bren..” ryan said, clearing his throat. “can i lay with you?”  
the shorter male hummed and lazily waved for ryan to come over to the place he resided. the older wasted no time scurrying to it. his seemed more comfortable for some reason. maybe brendon wasn't a psychopath for ‘testing the beds.’  
“b..” ryan gulped. “did you notice? have you ever noticed?”  
brendon threaded his brows together. “huh?”  
ryan pulled his shirt off slowly, unintentionally teasing brendon. he wanted to finally come clean to brendon, and for what reason is something unknown. maybe it's guilt, or need, or something more sick inside of him.  
“these,” he spoke lowly while tossing his shirt to the ground. “you ever noticed?”  
brendon sat up. he felt more awake than he had in a while.  
“ryan, jesus.. when did you do this?”  
“tenth and twelfth grade.”  
ryan pulled his left hand out of the sheets, palm up. his hands scars were still pink around there.  
“holy shit ryan.. i've only ever seen them once or twice, but i didn't think they were scars or anything. why'd you self harm this ba-”  
“not self harm, no.. i was trying new things, you know? i liked seeing skin and how it works and the science of it all.”  
brendon shook his head.  
“i looked in the mirror in the bathroom. the one at the gas station.”  
the older boy pulled the sheets off of his legs. he was still hard (brendon immediately took notice to it but brushed it off as nothing), but that was the least of his concerns. he owed an explanation for what he started. the purple bruise with yellow flecks stood out on his skin, like a white canvas with a black paint splotch.  
“the.. jesus fuck, how new..”  
ry didn't respond. instead, he though of a plan to get when he wanted outside the van.  
“i couldn't stop thinking of them.. the scars. and went to the bathroom, brendon. and i did it so i could get rid of the guilt.”  
ryan resorted to crying faux tears, making his face as realistically upset as possible. maybe if he sobbed hard enough, he could fuck brendon senseless and bruise him too.  
“i can't be fixed.”  
brendon's heart pinged in his chest. something broke inside him.  
“oh, ryan.. i..”  
brendon looked down and kissed one of ryan's scars. one kiss turned to two, two turned to three, three turned to four, and four turned to every scar in sight. ryan's plan failed. he got caught up in his thoughts of concocting a new plan when..  
“fuck!”  
brendon put his hands to good use under ryan's boxers. ry was unsure of the logic behind it. maybe brendon thought getting him off would make him happier? chemically, yes, but it wasn't really ryan. ry pretended it was what he wanted to the best of his ability, but in reality, he wanted much more. the male ended up grabbing brendon's wrist and pulling him away. he proceeded to climb on top of him and feverishly kiss him. brendon took a much softer approach whereas ryan was much more rough. he bit the other's lip so hard, it drew blood. brendon squealed while ryan groaned at the taste. so nostalgic, so impure, so dirty, yet something he needed.  
ryan kissed brendon's jaw and neck, trying his best to resist leaving marks. but he got to brendon's stomach. he couldn't help biting bren. brendon made the type of noise a porn star would. biting even harsher, brendon couldn't think properly. he forgot his own name, feeling like he was in space.  
“you're such a fucking whore. what if other people heard you like this?”  
ryan bit into brendon's skin.  
“stop! stop!” brendon screamed in pain. he writhed in the stained white sheets. there were probably bed bugs somewhere in them. the hotel wasn't that nice, only a three star.   
ryan moved to a different spot breathlessly, biting and nipping there. ryan eventually stopped with all of the ‘foreplay.’ (or what his idea of it was. though it was closer to cannibalism.)  
ryan slipped off his boxers while brendon did the same. both gasped at the coldness. ryan was too hungry to care about being gentle, too stuck up to care about anyone but himself. too far gone. ry fucked brendon into oblivion, not giving him time to adjust or anything. it was harsh on brendon, but he couldn't think to tell him no. who was he to complain about something he had wanted? maybe it wasn't the way he wanted, maybe his ass was on fire, but who was he to complain? all could bring himself to do was cry softly and whimper. but ryan got too into it. he bit into brendon's neck, all the way.  
“ryan, no!” bren said with what little voice and energy he had left.  
ry was too far into (and out of) his mind to do what was asked of him. he bit a chunk out of brendon's skin. brendon passed out slowly. he was gone for about a minute before ryan was done with that part of his neck. the male pulled out and bit another chunk of brendon's neck out, sucking at it until he couldn't anymore. brendon was damn near gone for life. ryan kitten-licked at the blood, smiling. he repeated the action again and again until there was nothing but a pile of flesh from brendon's neck surrounding him. ryan peeled the rest off. it was hard to do, mostly because of the sound and smell. but he ignored it. he got what he wanted and some more. ry couldn't help but to grin at the pile of organs in front of him. all he could see was red and dark brown eyes staring through the sockets. “you look so pretty like this.” he leaned forward and hugged what was left of his best friend, kissing places where he wanted. brendon's heart was now on his chest, and it was quite appealing to see. ten hours before the live in denver concert, ryan ate skin. it tasted salty and sweet mixed with a metallic taste. ryan tried it on, placing already rotting skin onto his arm and on his stomach. he could be beautiful now, with out without his scars.  
a knock at the door met ryan's ears. jon entered the room.  
“hey, i nee- oh fuck!”  
the first thing that jon noticed about the situation was the stench of spoiled milk and dead animals. the next was a completely skinned brendon urie with an insane looking ryan ross on top. his skin covered chest was dripping with blood and bits of meat. ryan opened his mouth innocently with red dripping from the corners of it. he titled his head to the side like a lost puppy. he nearly considered eating jon's skin, too. everybody looked prettier without skin. jon pulled his flip phone from his pocket and dialed the police, scream-crying. ryan sat frozen as the situation was reported. no emotion on his face. in reality, though, he was mentally screaming at himself. he killed brendon, he killed him, why isn't he moving? the show, and jon seeing! how did he get so far into it? oh, god, brendon was inside of him! every dark thought of times he caused bruises and cuts and blood flowed through his mind. the images of brendon at performances and him in his bed peacefully seemed to stay there, taunting him for what he did. he envisioned himself trapped in a box with the old bren, not the one who's lungs were showing and guts were on the sheets, but the one who sang his lyrics and hugged him when he was low. the one who comforted him when needed and left him alone when not.  
“just let me go!” ryan sobbed.   
brendon leaned forward, held his friend close.   
“i've got you, don't cry. i'll be here with you, okay?”   
loud ringing and flashing red and blue filled jon's ears. he had never felt more disturbed in his life. he wanted to kill himself so he wouldn't think of the situation anymore. he felt more agony thinking brendon had to suffer through it all.


End file.
